Life of Delayed Asphyxiation
by KantoShanto
Summary: Keto Marksford, a recruit of the 111th Training Squad, isn't the model trainee. He has little drive or motivation, and regrets his decision to enlist in the military. His regret stems not from a fear from death, but instead a source that even he can't fully identify. It's not until he actually starts to befriend his new squadmates that his decision seems somewhat worthwhile.
1. Welcome to the Military Recruit!

**Notes: (Why hello there! Thanks for clicking on my fanfiction here, I decided to come and try to write some more after reading what's been published of Attack on Titan so far, as I am ****_really _****enjoying the series. Why I waited so long I'll never know, but at least I've finally caught up! ^=^. So yeah, I hope you guys enjoy this little story of mine, feel free to review and tell me what you think. I really value honest critique so that I can put out chapters better than the last. Cheers!)**

**Chapter One:**

Waking up sore is never a preferable way to start a day. It really kills any hope of having a "good" morning, though I do suppose waking up at 5 A.M. contributes to the overcast mood as well. Nevermind the fact the first thing you wake up to isn't the blissful sounds of birds chirping or the sound of leaves rustling in a slight morning breeze, but instead a high ranking military officer hopped up on his power barking orders at you. Such is the glorious life of a recruit of the 111th Training Squad. To think I chose such a life is a wonder, and I regretted it almost instantly after my ill-advised enlistment. The only problem is that I couldn't bear to drop out once I had committed to it. I felt it would be an everlasting stigma of my life, and I would be unable to ever get out under the inevitable feeling of failure I'd feel after my departure from the Squad. So, here I was, less-than-reluctantly sliding out of my hardened rock bed, my body screeching at every little movement I attempted to make.

And whilst for a few seconds I maintained the posture of a wilted plant, the booming sound of footsteps prompted me to straighten my back. One would think that all footsteps sound somewhat alike, and before my enlistment I could hardly tell a Titan's walk from the petite elderly woman's who lived down my street. Yet after just a few days in the Training Squad, I learned to differentiate the footsteps of a high ranking officer and that of a scrub like myself. An officer's footsteps possessed a certain authoritative feeling to them, something about how they held themselves had to attribute to that. It was soon that the source of that sound appeared in front of me, Commander Samuel Linke-Jackson. Full uniform in tow, he carried a typical stern look upon his average-joe face. A slight natural squint only enhanced the intimidation one could feel from his stern gaze. Yet, for whatever reason, scrub me wasn't intimidated by him at all. I respected him, but I wasn't afraid of him like some of my other counterparts were. Not even as he looked me up and down, his eyes giving no indication of disapproval nor it's opposite. It was only when he spoke that I had the slightest of idea what he was thinking.

"Your jacket, it's crooked." He gestured stiffly with his left arm, reminiscent of a rusted metal figurine of a soldier I played with as a child.

I looked down at the comment, trying to hide my slight irritation as I obligatorily straightened my outermost piece of apparel. _"Of course it's crooked, I just got out of the slab of rock you try to convince us is a bed." _As much as I desired to share my completely constructive and not at all argument-inciting thoughts, I knew well enough to keep my mouth shut in front of the Commander. Instead, I just looked back up at him, waiting for a sign of approval. He really didn't convey much emotion facially, so I had to wait there for him to physically _voice _that I had managed to not screw up the most basic ability one could ever imagine to do. And he sure wasn't in a rush to give me that reassurance, as I had to lock my gaze to his for a good 15 seconds before he uttered the smallest of morsels of speech.

"Name, again?"

_"You don't know my fucking name?" _His off-track conversation and bland personality was something that I had accustomed myself to in my then brief time with the squad, but for whatever reason, whether it be my lack of quality slumber or my general annoyance with how things were going training wise, he was plain _pissing me off._A stinging retort was on the tip of my tongue, ready to launch itself into the airways. The only issue was that I wasn't interested in pissing HIM off to the point where he'd launch his _fist _into my _teeth. _As such, I just exhaled heavily and answered his question.

"Keto Marksford..." I cringed slightly after saying my name, I wasn't fond of it's "uniqueness."

"Interesting name..." He still maintained that steel face of his, even with how comedically ironic his statement was. After all, he himself was ridiculed by my fellow scrubs for his own eccentric name. It took _everything _I had not to make this point to him, to try and shift the attention away from the horrid name my birthgivers had given me upon birth. But I had all of my wits with me, albeit groggy wits, and instead expressed a reply through the slightest of nods I could manage. The Commander looked at me for a second or two longer, before authoritatively shuffling off a few steps to the door positioned next to my bed, hence my examination being the last of my peers.

"Conditioning training in five minutes." He had raised his arm to accompany his announcement, something much needed considering his monotone was seemingly becoming quieter and quieter. Had he said anything else after that, it would've been drowned out by the collective groan shared by the majority of recruits, only the completely silent or all-too-preppy trainees giving no complaint.

_"It's going to be far too long of a day..." _The thought floated into my head, and little would I know just how right I was.


	2. Welcome to Conditioning Training Recruit

**Chapter Two:**

When I first enlisted, I thought that training would be a breeze. That I'd have a natural gift for using the 3D Maneuvering Gear and would be out of training in under half the usual time it'd take anyone else. Even though I hadn't ever exhibited any strokes of brilliance in the realms of intelligence nor athleticism, I somehow convinced myself that I was above everyone else in skill and capabilities.

It took just under a day for all of that to be crushed.

My initial doubts started when I watched a good twenty recruits in front of me pass the basic aptitude test required to at the very least be a _decoy _in the Survey Corps. When I stepped up to the task with my equipment in tow, my confidence was still intact. Yet once I was strapped in and raised slightly into the air, I realized just how wrong I was. I instantly started to rock back and forth, flailing my arms in a vain attempt to steady myself. A horror started to grow inside of me, as I waited for the Commander to signal a stop to my test, therefore failing me. Yet, he didn't. Instead he silently allowed me to continue, and I started to notice that my rocking was slowly ebbing as time went by. After what was then the longest thirty seconds of my life, I came to a complete stop. Since the world's turbulence had subsided, I was able to see the reaction my less-than-graceful had caused. My eyes instinctively darted first to the crowd of my peers, most of whom wore a bemused look upon their faces. They'd likely had been more sympathetic had the participants before me not exhibited the skills they did, so instead I got to be highlighted as the first one to screw up. The first one to show inferiority to the rest of the pack, and therefore I could only imagine the scornful glare I was about to receive once I shifted my attention to Commander Jackson. His slightly above average height suddenly seemed towering, and reminiscent of the morning before, I could only look at him expectantly, waiting for him to signal my fate.

"That was perhaps the worst success I have ever seen in my brief stint as a commander..." He brought his hand to his forehead, as if what he had just witnessed gave him a headache. "But... A success is a success. Unharness yourself and get off to conditioning." With that, he turned away from me, directing his attention to the next recruit in line. I hastily undid the multiple buckles fastening the 3DMG, and tried to make myself invisible as I passed the neverending line of recruits waiting to take the aptitude test. Some of them shot me a smug look, one or two seemed to express sympathy for me; but the majority of them kept their eyes locked forwards, paying me no mind. The aforementioned conditioning drills were located on the other side of the designated training area. Carrying my Maneuvering Gear that far was a conditioning drill in itself, and my heart dropped yet again when I saw what lay before me. The twenty recruits that had passed the aptitude test before me were lined up in an almost too-perfect line, and a red flag waved in the distance, it's color accented by it's tan surroundings. Judging by the mass of footprints imprinted in the ground, I could see where this was heading. After my strenuous journey to reach this destination, I was now going to have to _race _twenty other recruits, all of whom had already exhibited skills far better than my own.

_"Damn." _

**Notes: (Well, there it is! Chapter Two ^-^. Sorry for the slight decrease in my already short length, I typically write short chapters often rather than long ones occasionally. Some like it, some hate it. But, even with it's shortness, this chapter took me quite a few hours to write. I just couldn't seem to find the right wording. I hope you guys enjoyed it, feel free to leave a review as I love to hear feedback from my readers. Cheers.) **


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